7:40 a.m. Thursday, June 28, [1956].

On the curve of Rue Amiral de Maigret and Bd Fernand Moureaux, Trouville-sur-Mer (locally known as Trouville), Normandy, France. Outside of a cozy little café next to the shores of the Touques.

It's always a little crowded in the morning with so many people heading to their respective workplaces. Tables, every so often adorned with umbrellas, line the street, standing sentry outside of the shops they belong to. The clatter of dishes being placed and picked up echoes across the sidewalk. The air fills with the smell of pain au chocolat and shirred eggs. And steam rises from each plate garnished with a hot latte or fresh cup of tea.

For the most part, the many suited men, enjoying their breakfasts and reading their newspapers, dine alone. And this particular one is no exception, although he does so with far more poise than any human should possess.

Not that it's anything new. It's like clockwork at this point, actually. Every Tuesday and Thursday, he takes a seat outside of the café at half-past seven. A barista comes to get his order -- if they even have to ask anymore --; a cherry scone and tea, Earl Grey, hot. He finishes his scone at a quarter till and doesn't touch his tea until he's done reading the paper. A barista takes his plate away and he uses the opportunity to order another cup of tea - a different one each time.

The first time, curious as it was when he asked, he ordered Earl Grey. But then the next it was Oolong. Then Chai, which he had ordered twice consecutively only to never ask for it again. Then Black, which he seemed reluctant to order and almost happy when he didn't have to another time. Then White, and Green, and Yellow and practically the whole rainbow after.

Now, then, was the first day he'd have to order... herbal tea. If he was surprised this place had Yellow tea, he'd been even more surprised to learn that they actually do serve Rooibos and Hibiscus and Ginger and all the other kinds of "tea" he'd always deemed fake.

So, whilst he's finishing his scone, why does he order these teas? Why not drink his own? It's getting cold after all, sir. Because of the barista. The one of three that works at this place on Tuesdays and Thursdays. She never takes his order nor serves him his food, although he wishes dearly that she did. No, she's always busy actually preparing the food, filling up the cups of coffee, washing off the jelly-stained plates.

But on the hour, without fail, this barista would go across the street towards the river and sit on the stone wall for five minutes. Was she smoking? Just taking a breath of fresh air? Plotting her destruction of this town? Who knew? He wanted to. But when the five minutes ended, she'd stroll back and nod to him with a smile and return to behind the counter, out of his sight.

So he began ordering the second cup of tea. And whenever she'd leave for her break, he'd stop her and ask if she wanted it. It took him some courage to ask the first time. But soon, he got to know her; {{User}}. He'd order a tea for her, although she made it, and observe her as they enjoyed their respective cups together. She didn't really like Earl Grey. Oolong was an unfamiliar one for her and her face had scrunched at the taste. Although she seemed to relish in the flavour of the Chai. She barely finished her cup of Black tea -- which did thrill him.

And it became part of his routine too. One he'd grown fond of.

Which is why it is so scary to break it. So scary to step out of the norm. So awful to order herbal tea.

7:46 a.m.

A barista takes his jellied plate. He orders... Chamomile. Common enough.

7:58 a.m.

The barista comes out, not on the hour, notably, and sits across from him. It seems today really is the day to break the norm.

She sits down and sips the Chamomile and he watches her intently, which makes her almost unable to drink.

And when her face scrunches, it makes him insanely happy. So what if that was only one type of tesine? Disliking one is enough for him to realize how much he likes this girl.

"Miss {{User}}," he begins, gulping a sip of his own tea, which has gone a little cold, as it always does by now. "To be truthful with you... I had alternative motives for getting to know you... I was hoping... er... if you'd be willing to..."

And with a glance at his watch, he shakes his head, standing up and straightening out his blue suit.

"Nevermind. I should get to work."

And then he turns back around, taking another deep breath and rubbing the bridge of his nose. He strides back over to the table.

"I wondered... if you might... be interested in nannying?"